


Personal Growth

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Developing Relationship, Friendship, Living Together, Male Slash, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Movie(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Relationship(s), Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 05:39:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3717175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky lets himself get found by Sam and Steve. Sam gets to know how he feels about both of them. He invites them to move in with him, they all need the company and stability, they all need to keep watch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Personal Growth

**Author's Note:**

> Set after _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_.

 

 

 

Once Bucky had decided to let them locate him and once he and Steve had reunited and actually talked some, it looked like heading back was a go. Steve had already turned down Tony Stark’s offer of bed and board at Avengers Tower. Stark kept calling though. Tony Stark. Sam shook his head, Steve wasn’t awed by Stark because he’d known the guy’s father, of course he had, and because he’d fought alongside Tony at the battle of New York. Still, Tony Stark, one of the richest and most notorious men in America, was persistently calling Steve - this was Sam’s life now.

 

“He doesn’t hear ‘no’ all that often, huh?” Sam commented, after Steve had hung up on Tony for the third time that week.

 

Steve looked fondly amused, “Even when does, he’s got selective hearing.”

 

Sam laughed, right before his own cellphone started ringing. He glanced down at the unknown number and then towards Steve, because this could not be a coincidence. Once again, this was Sam’s life.

 

“Is Tony Stark calling my phone?”

 

Steve looked apologetic as he texted rapidly, “I’m so sorry. This shouldn’t take long.”

 

He finished texting and a few short moments later, Sam’s phone abruptly went silent. Sam looked amused now.

 

“Do I want to know what Steve Rogers does to call off Tony Stark?”

 

Steve grinned, it was indecently attractive. “Not me. Pepper.”

 

“You told the man’s fiancé.”

 

“I told the CEO of Stark Industries that her company’s public name was wasting time harassing us.”

 

Sam saved Tony’s number and gave Steve an admiring look. He did that a lot because Steve Rogers was an attractive man, a fact not an opinion. Sam had learned all about Captain America in school and had been struck then by the good Captain's looks as well by as his actions. Of course now he knew Steve Rogers as well as the Captain. Steve had faults, because even Captain America had those, no super-serum could create a flawless human being. But he also possessed a staggering depth of genuine decency and concern for his fellow man, paired with a truly wicked sense of humor. It all added up to a very compelling package. Sam wasn’t ashamed of admiring that, hell, most of America agreed with him.

 

Steve had become a good friend, better than good because they’d chased an unstable assassin across America together while ducking the media and any remnants of Hydra. Steve had gotten under his skin; the way he firmly refused to give up on his best friend despite everything that'd gone down, how unconsciously tactile he was, how interested he was in talking to and listening to people, how he cursed like any other army guy, how he really couldn’t cook, how he taunted Sam whenever they ran together, how he still saw good in a world that’d done little but kick him around. All of that and a lot more added up to Sam frequently experiencing some very vivid dreams, a really good burn through his veins and more than just an itch-to-be-scratched fulfilling-the-fantasy interest in Steve Rogers.

 

And there was Steve’s best friend as well, the man who had been Bucky Barnes wasn’t far off that reservation either. That’d been a surprise. There was a lot crammed into that very fractured mind of his and the files Natasha had dug up listed kill after kill after kill. Natasha didn’t think that even scratched the surface of what he’d done. He’d been a weapon for decades, nothing more. But, Natasha had reported, he’d only been after Hydra since his reunion with Steve. And now he’d decided to actually stick around and spend time with his old buddy.

 

He was extremely vigilant and skittish and didn’t talk much. He only remembered glimpses of being Bucky Barnes but he remembered Steve. They’d stare at each other and not say a word, just drinking the other in. At night, Bucky’s sleep was almost always disturbed; he shook and muttered in Russian and he often threw punches when Steve or Sam tried to wake him. Sometimes he disappeared for hours but he always came back. Sam learned not to worry.

 

Bucky didn’t touch people, except for Steve now and then. Steve seemed to have accepted that, learning how to navigate when Bucky would accept his touch and when he wouldn't. The rest of the time Steve was content to sit beside his friend and talk, Bucky listening without comment. They made one hell of a picture.

 

There'd been some days, particularly at the beginning of their journey, when Steve had seemed drawn and kept looking at Bucky like he was trying to catch sight of something. Sam had talked to him about it over some really good po-boys.

 

“If you’re not looking at _him_ , you probably shouldn’t be looking at all.”

 

Steve had actually startled and stared at Sam with a painful expression. Sam hadn’t enjoyed making Steve look like that but somebody had had to get through to him on this. Bucky was the biggest of all blind spots and it was Bucky who would suffer if this wasn’t dealt with right.

 

“You want your friend back, I get that. But the Bucky Barnes you knew, whoever we’re traveling with right now, he’s not going to be that guy, not in all the ways you remember.”

 

Steve hadn’t answered for a while; he’d chewed on his po-boy before curling his now-empty hands into frustrated fists. Sam had stayed quiet and had let him think on it for a while. It was one of the things he appreciated about Steve – his ability to not just instinctively shoot the messenger.

 

Eventually, Steve had spoken, “He’s not a weapon.”

 

“No, but he is a soldier. Now he’s learning what else he can be. It’s not all going to be the same and if you can’t make your peace with that, then the best thing you can do is get him to people who can.”

 

Sam had counseled a lot of veterans who’d had to cope not only with the experiences they’d lived through but also with family and friends wanting them to be just who they'd been back before they’d shipped out. Some families got it but a lot didn’t. Sam had seen the damage that’d done and he hadn't wanted that for Bucky.

 

Steve had sighed but he hadn’t looked hopeless or angry, it hadn’t looked like he’d wanted something that wasn’t there anymore.

 

“Whoever he is, he’s still my guy, you know?”

 

That was what had most mattered to Steve, it still did. It’d made a huge chunk of warmth run through Sam. Bucky Barnes, whoever he was now, was a lucky man.

 

Steve had lived up to his word. He talked to Bucky about their past but he never told Bucky who he should or shouldn’t be. He explained things and stuck by his guy. It made what Sam felt when he looked at Steve grow even more. Steve was that kind of guy.

 

Sam didn’t think he could explain why he was drawn to Bucky. The guy had tried to kill him and Steve several times over, not to mention all he'd done before. But this was also the man who’d saved Steve’s life and Sam knew progress in combat veterans when he saw it. He wanted to help Bucky, for him to feel safe and steadier and for him to sleep deeper through the night. He’d learned a lot of Bucky’s microexpressions and knew that when Bucky tilted his head a certain way he probably needed water and that when he shifted his weight to the right that his knee was giving him hell. Sam had come to like the times he got to sit alongside Bucky in motel rooms or in the car, how Bucky’s presence felt, how his gaze touched Sam.

 

Sam wanted to know more, that was the clue. He didn’t _just_ want to help.

 

Bucky’s metal arm looked smooth and cool and was as much a part of him as his all-black wardrobe and biker boots. It was the most advanced prosthetic that Sam had ever laid eyes on and while it’d caused untold amounts of carnage over the years, it’d probably saved Bucky’s life after he’d been pulled out of that ravine.

 

There was no guarantee that Bucky would ever want any kind of relationship - romantic, sexual or platonic -outside of whatever it was he was working on with Steve. But Sam liked what he saw when he looked at Bucky and he enjoyed Bucky’s silent articulate company on a level that he really hadn’t expected.

 

Sam never pinned his heart on anybody straightforward. He’d probably get bored if he did, or so his sisters said, teasing him every chance they got; his momma usually looked pleased and knowing.

 

Sam gave Steve and Bucky space and kept his distance. He knew this dance. Around Bucky, he was light and inclusive with his words and actions. He noticed Bucky hesitating over simple choices and offered suggestions. Going from rigid absolute commands to complete freedom could do a lot of damage if steps forward weren’t taken very carefully. Sam also noticed how Bucky sometimes looked at Steve; it was a heartbreaker.

 

Now they were almost back in D.C and choices had to be made. Hospitals were out and Avengers Tower wasn’t going to be helpful for Bucky’s complicated healing process. On the road, Bucky spent a lot of roadside breaks staring at the horizon. He seemed to like being outdoors; maybe it was the fresh air, being able to savor it now. Sam liked watching him, the way his posture relaxed an inch or two in those moments. Sam liked how happy it made Steve too, seeing Bucky like that. Speaking of complicated things...

 

Sam tackled it head-on. He took a moment first though; while he knew how broadminded Steve Rogers was – the Tea Party really didn’t have a clue – he also knew that everybody had limits, even Captain America. But Sam had seen how it took more than becoming the world’s most violently uncompromising assassin for Steve Rogers to turn his back on a friend so while Bucky communed with nature one afternoon, Sam sat on the hood of the car and talked frankly to Steve. He was happy to host Steve and Bucky. But just so Steve knew; it wasn’t just about friendship for Sam anymore, not when it came to Steve or Bucky. He knew the magnitude of what Steve and Bucky shared and Sam wasn’t looking to change that. He didn’t want things to be awkward or for Bucky’s progress to stutter because of him. He could live with them and with how he felt; he just wanted them to know. Full disclosure.

 

Steve didn’t look shocked. Instead he looked brilliantly fond, his knee nudging Sam’s.

 

“Well then, in the interest of full disclosure, you’re a hell of a guy, Sam.” Steve’s mouth twisted beautifully upward. “In fact, I feel like you might be our guy too.”

 

There was a tiny moment silently filled with _did-I-hear-that-right?_ then Sam grinned, brimming with so much good unexpected feeling, like the floor had jumped out from underneath him but he'd known how to deal with that for years. It seemed like Steve was more limitless than Sam had given him credit for.

 

“Have you been flirting with me this whole time, Rogers? Was that you on point?”

 

Steve smiled in silent winning response as he wrapped a confident arm around Sam, completely at ease. Damn. Sam shook his head and was unable to resist leaning in, Steve met him more than halfway. His lips opened up beneath Sam’s and _this_ was Steve on point. Sam groaned, his tongue mapping out Steve’s mouth, his hands learning the ridiculous toned muscles that science had been kind enough to gift Steve. It was uncoordinated and breathless and there were dust clouds swirling around them. It was a rush, like the ground still disappearing from under Sam’s feet, like his wings unfolding. Sam wanted more.

 

The kiss ended though and Steve palmed a hand to Sam’s neck with a nicely admiring heated look. Sam couldn’t help smiling; making-out with Captain America. That was not how he’d imagined his day going. He shook off enough of the dopey aftermath to glance towards Bucky, who was watching them intently. His expression was calculating, one of his Soldier defaults. Sam held his gaze, he didn’t want to cause any aftershocks.

 

Steve squeezed his shoulder and called to Bucky, "Look who opened his eyes.”

 

Bucky stared for a few moments more then inclined his head. Sam nodded back, letting the heat in his expression linger. He wanted Bucky to know how he felt. Bucky didn’t back away but his gaze did drop.

 

“You sure you want us moving in? You don’t want a break or time to yourself for a while?” Steve asked quietly.

 

Sam smiled. He wanted to help Steve and Bucky and he doubted them staying in Steve’s old place would cut it. All three of them had been living together for weeks on the road but it’d feel all kinds of weird and almost wrong to go back to solitary. Sam had his family and he loved seeing them but as Steve and Bucky knew, family could be a whole lot of different things.

 

“How about I let you know if I change my mind?” was all he said, raising a relaxed eyebrow.

 

Steve laughed softly, “Full disclosure.”

 

“Right. So...” Sam tipped his head towards Bucky. “I know he’s got a ways to go before this all means something to him.”

 

Steve kissed him softly. It was a grateful meaningful kiss.

 

“Buck hasn’t got many words right now but I know he feels safe enough to sleep in the same room as you; he keeps watch when you’re asleep. And I know the way he looks at you. He’s interested, not as a _direct_ participant, but he’s interested.”

 

Sam glanced back towards Bucky, who was watching them again. Sam knew enough of Bucky’s gazes to feel good under this one. Bucky didn’t have much to rely on these days but he relied on Steve and Sam. He trusted Sam with Steve. That was big.

 

“A direct participant, huh,” Sam commented, leadingly with a teasing smile.

 

Steve’s smile didn’t dim; in fact it became more of a smirk. It was a very good look on him, as most things were.

 

“Full disclosure.”

 

*

 

They made it back to D.C the next day. Steve contacted Natasha to let her know, Sam found a note on his kitchen table which demonstrated that she’d been expecting them back anyway. Of course she had. There was a couple of homemade lasagnes in the fridge from Sharon, she’d stuck a note up to welcome them home - she was keeping in touch with Natasha and had left her new number by Sam’s phone so that the circle could be complete. Sam smiled and left her note on the fridge. It wasn’t the Avengers but it was damn good.

 

Tony kept ringing Steve and Sam, neither of them ever picked up. Steve messaged Pepper again with a smile that said he was definitely causing trouble for Tony. Sam didn’t object.

 

He checked his spare room – it needed work but there was space enough for both Steve and Bucky. Bucky hadn’t touched Sam yet but he’d often lain down on the same bed as Steve. It’d looked chaste and almost painful and sweet.

 

When Sam headed back into the lounge, Steve was apparently using the bathroom and Bucky was staring out of the windows. Sam admired the view– Bucky framed against the familiar backyard, his eyes inscrutable – before he made his footsteps loud and made sure that he kept in Bucky’s eyeline.

 

“You can open them if you want,” Sam said nodding towards the windows. “The one on the left doesn’t open all the way but go ahead. Just keep any and all firepower to the spare room, my nieces are curious.”

 

Bucky eyed him and nodded sharply. Sam shifted just a little bit closer but didn’t touch him. That was Bucky’s choice to make. Sam wanted him to know that he was more than welcome though.

 

“Glad you’re here.”

 

Sam paused, struck for the first time by something. Should he be calling the guy something else? _Bucky_ felt like Steve’s territory, a nickname that’d been earned. Sam didn’t want to make assumptions. Maybe Bucky didn’t want to be reminded of who everybody remembered and who he didn’t feel like anymore. But then, calling him something else when he was trying to get a lock on his own identity might cause even more problems.

 

“You want to be called something else?” Sam asked conversationally.”I mean, I know Bucky’s someone other people knew. You want to hear another name from me, you let me know.”

 

Bucky looked thoughtful, that was good. He needed a shave. Sam needed to hit a lot of stores.

 

“I could call you Jimmy.”

 

Sam said it like a tease because there was no way Bucky looked like a Jimmy at all. Bucky slanted his eyes towards Sam, his entire expression classically unimpressed. Sam laughed, feeling warm all over again. That was a new expression of Bucky’s for him to learn.

 

“Go ahead and stow your gear. You can share the spare room with Steve or one of you can take the couch. My room’s next to yours.”

 

Just giving him the lay of the land. Steve emerged from the bathroom and joined them by the windows. He rested a hand at Sam’s hip for a moment before briefly doing the same to Bucky, who didn’t freeze up or storm off. It was really good to see. Sam leaned into Steve, liking how easily Steve took his weight. There was a lot of appeal in that solid unassuming strength.

 

“Thanks, Sam.”

 

Sam smiled a little in response, drinking in the moment. All he was looking for was more of their company, getting more intimately acquainted with Steve and learning more of Bucky. He’d have to warn his family against any surprise visits; they knew the score when it came to people he worked with and he’d told them enough about Steve and Bucky for them to get excited and show understanding.

 

That night, Sam dreamed about flying and woke up to find Bucky standing in his doorway. Sam quickly shook away sleep with the ease of long practice, his heart-rate not kicking up either.

 

“You need anything?”

 

He pitched his voice low and Bucky didn’t respond. He just stood very still, a shadow in the lit-up doorway. Sam let him look his fill and looked right back. Steve had said that Bucky had watched over him before while he'd slept. Maybe Bucky was checking on his men, making sure that they were where they were supposed to be, unharmed.

 

Maybe Bucky wanted Sam’s company.

 

Sam shifted back on the bed a little, making it obvious that there was room for Bucky if he wanted it. Bucky didn't move for a moment or two, like he was thinking about it, but then he left, just as abruptly as he’d arrived. Sam let out a breath; he was a little disappointed but that was okay. That meant something.

 

Still, it didn’t feel all that good. Sam hoped that Bucky had found himself somewhere in the house to sleep that made him feel safe. Sam didn’t hear any doors or windows opening. He wondered if Steve was awake. They were all conditioned now.

 

*

 

Sam didn’t expect to be the first one up. Sure enough there was Steve, stretching in the lounge for his regular run. The spare room door was closed. Steve smiled as he righted himself and Sam smiled back. It was a good view to get first thing in the morning.

 

“He sleeping in?” Sam asked, nodding towards the spare room door. “He paid me a visit last night.”

 

Steve looked apologetic, not surprised, “He had trouble settling, he spent half the night in with me and the other half visiting you and checking the perimeter I think.”

 

“It’s good to feel safe.”

 

Sam got that; it wasn’t just the softness of his mattress that’d kept him up when he’d first gotten back. Some nights, he’d missed gunfire and shouting, other nights it was all he hadn’t wanted to think about. Safety was an all-too-fluid feeling, especially away from the front line. Steve smiled again, his expression wholly appreciative.

 

“It is.”

 

They looked at each other for a few more comfortable moments, then Sam grabbed his sneakers, “C’mon, I’ll let you lap me a few times before breakfast is served.”

 

Steve laughed, pressing close before they both headed towards the door, “Sure, I'll just try to keep up, shall I?”

 

“How about you don’t make me look bad when I'm gonna make you breakfast after?”

 

Steve drew him in for a kiss that had Sam digging fingers into Steve’s back and pushing up against him. It was an exceptional morning greeting.

 

“Don’t think I could make you look bad if I tried,” Steve murmured against Sam’s mouth.

 

Sam managed a breathless chuckle. There was that air current rush again. A few of his favorite fantasies needed an upgrade. He snaked a hand down to grab a handful of very grabbable ass, which made Steve startle and laugh. The two of them leaned against each other but the day wasn’t getting any younger and Sam had plans to keep.

 

“You leave him a note?” he asked, his mind traveling back to Bucky again.

 

“He’ll know where we are.”

 

Steve was unconcerned. Maybe Bucky would be watching as they ran. Sam liked that idea.

 

The day was warming up as he kept pace with Steve who Sam knew was going slow for Sam’s sake. It felt good though, companionable. It was good to run and not be running for their lives. Riley had always said that Sam was a fool for running when no one was yelling. Riley would have had a lot to say about Sam’s situation with Steve and Bucky. Sam regretted that he’d never get to hear it.

 

With a grin, Steve ran off, which had Sam yelling after him, “I know I’m looking bad right now.”

 

He could hear Steve’s laugh and couldn’t help smiling despite the humbling sensation of soon being passed way too quickly. Steve needed to stretch his legs; Sam could admire the physical display he was getting to witness first-hand, even if it did make him look so far away from impressive.

 

Steve slowed down eventually; his shirt damp and showing off even more of his body than usual. Sam looked his fill – though honestly he didn’t think he was ever going to get tired of that particular view - and met Steve’s eyes, right before they both moved and Steve ended up pressed up against a nearby building. Sam was under no illusions; Steve was only in that position because he wanted to be. It was a very good feeling.

 

Steve’s hands brushed under the edge of Sam’s shirt questioningly, Sam stuck his under Steve’s shirt in clear response. Steve bit Sam’s bottom lip in laughing return. Steve’s chest felt as good as it looked, Sam did a thorough reconnaissance. The fact that Steve was enjoying himself just as much exploring Sam’s body, and Sam could _feel_ how much Steve was enjoying himself, was a hell of a turn-on.

 

The sound of a car horn finally made them pause. Sam could still feel how breathless Steve was and could see how dark his eyes had gotten. Sam knew that he was wearing a practically identical look.

 

The thought had occurred to him that maybe Steve needed someone he could really touch, someone he could trust with this kind of physical intimacy, seeing as Bucky wasn’t there. That was probably part of it but Sam knew, you didn’t move your deeply-damaged best friend/boyfriend into the home of someone you were just looking to bang. Not if you were Steve Rogers.

 

Speaking of which, Sam could see that Steve’s lips were starting to twitch, “You really want to make a full disclosure joke, don’t you?”

 

Steve laughed, “Seems like the right moment.”

 

Sam shook his head and clapped Steve on the shoulder, stepping back to give him more room.

 

“Captain America loves innuendo. The history books lie, man.”

 

“They say I’m the man with the plan, don’t they?”

 

“You know what, Bucky's getting the first pancake.”

 

*

 

It didn’t take them long to get home and they only raced once they reached Sam’s street. It was hopeless but Sam liked seeing Steve’s smirk which flickered into an all-too-innocent expression. Steve Rogers was a smartass and it was fantastic to witness.

 

“I don’t know how you coped with this,” Sam told Bucky as he entered the house, Steve right behind him. “He keep this up with the Commandos around?”

 

Bucky was stood by the window again but he turned to watch them and his mouth lifted. Sam smiled back, watching as Steve rested a hand at Bucky’s back and Bucky leaned into him. Bucky’s gaze darted to Sam expressively, yeah, Sam could see how Bucky coped all right.

 

Steve was looking at Bucky with such soft real affection and so much gratitude and Bucky didn’t move from the safety and comfort of Steve’s side. Bucky looked for direction now, Sam got why. More than even the most committed military man, Bucky had been literally hardwired to obey and he’d probably been made to pay whenever he hadn’t toed the line exactly. There was something else though, something in the trusting way he reacted to Steve, like most of the time he now knew, or really wanted to believe, that Steve would take care of him.

 

Sam’s breath hitched and then his stomach growled, alerting him to other priorities. He headed into the kitchen.

 

“You’re getting the first pancake, Jimmy.”

 

As he started pulling pans and bowls out of cupboards, Sam caught sight of Steve’s surprised expression. Bucky was glaring at Sam but he wasn’t trembling and his face wasn’t closed off, signaling a lockdown. He was present and there was something almost like a smile about his features, even though he wasn’t smiling at all.

 

“You’re letting him get away with that, Buck?” Steve asked quietly, teasing.

 

Bucky sent a sharp look his way and then deliberately turned his back on both of them. Sam laughed, that was some of the famous Bucky Barnes sense of humor right there, the one that Sam had heard stories about. Maybe it wasn’t as overt as it’d been back in the day but it was tangible and man, that was really good to see. Steve and Sam exchanged smiles. Steve nudged Bucky, gently, almost playfully. Sam started cracking eggs.

 

Once everything else was cooked and the batter was ready, he called over his shoulder, “Syrup’s on the left of the glass, cutlery’s three below.”

 

He could hear movement and once he’d gotten the first few pancakes cooked and stacked, Sam glanced back to see Steve and Bucky moving around the kitchen. Steve touched Sam pretty much every time he passed, Bucky skirted close but didn’t touch. Sam smiled in thanks at them both; the table looked good.

 

He stacked up pancakes on three plates and offered a pan of sausage and bacon. Someone had made a pot of coffee, it smelled good. Sam could still taste how bad coffee had been in the service. Steve was sat down, pouring syrup over his pancakes and adding bacon to the mix. Bucky was stood, leaning against a countertop, eying everything. He rarely sat down for meals.

 

Sam tapped a knife against the strawberry preserve jar, getting Bucky’s attention instantly. Damn, that gaze. Sam didn’t tamp down on the heat that he was feeling and Bucky didn’t look away. It felt like a step forward.

 

“Here.”

 

Sam cut off a piece of syrup-drenched pancake and ate it, then he cut a piece off for Bucky. Bucky looked at him for a moment, like Sam was a problem to be solved. His gaze darted to Steve too but Sam didn’t look away from Bucky. Bucky stepped closer and ate directly from Sam's fork, his brow furrowed but he swallowed the pancake and didn’t look disgusted. Sam dropped a couple of pieces of bacon and sausage onto his own plate and gave it to Bucky, taking another plate for himself. Bucky lingered, then he retreated back to the countertop.

 

Sam remembered days out in the field when food hadn’t been so readily available. He remembered how everything had tasted once he’d gotten back home. He wondered, sharply and suddenly, how Hydra had kept the Winter Soldier fed and watered. Had it just been fuel? Another order? Sam couldn’t imagine it’d ever been a pleasure. Had it ever been a punishment though?

 

Bucky was eating now, small careful bites. He chewed slowly, like he was examining every aspect of it. Sam couldn’t tell if Bucky was enjoying his breakfast or not, he glanced over at Steve who was staring at Bucky with a lot of fond fascination. That was a good sign.

 

Sam drank his coffee and watched Steve shake himself out of his stupor and attack his own breakfast again. Steve caught Sam watching him and reached under the table to squeeze Sam’s knee. It was a gesture full of gratitude. Sam shook his head; Steve did things like that for Bucky every day. It was just what they did now, Sam and Steve, gladly. Steve looked like he understood; he leaned closer to kiss Sam with lips that tasted both sweet and salty thanks to his breakfast combo.

 

There was an audible noise, it was from Bucky. Sam almost stilled but didn’t break out of the kiss. He could feel Steve reacting to Bucky too; to knowing he was there, watching them. Not a direct participant but a really welcome one. Sam wasn’t going to push for any more progress.

 

When the kiss ended, Bucky left the room. He brushed a hand against Sam’s shoulder on his way past. Sam stilled then. God damn.

 

*

 

Sam had good sessions at the VA that week. There were newcomers and progress reports and a general feeling that good work was being done. Steve swung by a couple of times to pick him up, the veterans had almost all wanted to talk to him, soldier to soldier. Steve hadn’t looked like he’d hated it.

 

What Bucky did, Sam wasn’t sure. He was pretty sure that Bucky often followed him to the VA and back, it made Sam relax. And he’d seen Bucky staring out of the lounge window more than once. Bucky still hadn’t sat down for a meal but he was always there to share them with Steve and Sam. He watched them make out and strip out of their shirts, exploring scars and swapping war stories.

 

He was there when Sam wrapped a hand around Steve's cock, when Steve pushed hands to Sam's hips and returned the favor with his mouth, when Sam pressed Bucky's name into Steve's skin and heard Steve murmur for both Bucky and Sam. Bucky was part of that rush, that flight.

 

He was there when Sam and Steve slept in the same bed and when Sam slept alone. He watched Sam sleep. Sam always woke up to catch sight of him, it was like a tick now, and he always slept well under Bucky's gaze.

 

*

 

When the weather was hot on Friday, Sam opened the lounge windows and found, to his surprise, that the left-hand one now opened all the way. He pushed it back and forth, noting the ease of movement. Someone had been busy.

 

Steve was pacing the kitchen, taking a phonecall from Maria Hill. Sam raised an eyebrow when Steve caught his eye; Steve frowned, his gaze taking in the window, and shook his head. Bucky was perched on the edge of the lounge sofa, working on a couple of his knives, sharpening them like it was a job he’d very frequently done before. Sam was pretty sure there were a lot of knives currently stashed in his spare room, covertly just like Sam had asked.

 

He cleared his throat; Bucky’s gaze darted up to him instantly, “This you?”

 

Bucky gave a quick nod, his gaze dropping, but Sam could tell that Bucky was still hyper-aware of him. Bucky was always aware of Sam and Steve but this was different, this was expectant. Huh. Sam left the window open and looked out into the backyard. There were a few empty flowerbeds, a stretch of turf, not much. But Bucky was frequently found looking out there. Sam usually zeroed in on the sky but he got the feeling that Bucky always looked lower.

 

“Thanks. It’s a good job,” Sam said at last.

 

Bucky’s mouth twitched and that was enough. Sam made a decision. He neared Bucky, Bucky had recently started touching him so maybe it was Sam's move now. Sam lifted a hand, a question. Bucky looked at him, eyes dark and scrutinizing. He didn’t tense or freeze or move away, no sign of a dismissal in Bucky-speak. Sam rested his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, then his fingers traveled to the nape of Bucky’s neck, to where his long black hair fell. Bucky closed his eyes, his throat working.

 

Sam could feel his own mouth drying. This was trust, it was also something else. Something really good. When Sam went to pull away, Bucky pushed silently and insistently into his touch.

 

Sam left his hand there, “Thanks, Buck.”

 

He tangled his fingers in Bucky’s hair, luxuriating in the sensation, in the trust he was receiving and in the pleasure he could read so clearly in Bucky’s body language. Sam had done that, he got to experience it.

 

The kitchen had gone silent. Sam glanced over; Steve was watching them both, his grip on the phone very tight.

 

There should have been total silence but Sam could hear Maria’s side of the conversation, that was how loud she was getting. Steve seemed to realize too because he hastily began talking again. Sam nodded his head towards the open windows, to distract himself.

 

“I figured you were getting sightlines but there’s something else out there, right?”

 

He could feel Bucky nod slightly. Sam thought about his backyard, the earth that he hadn’t done anything with. From the stories he’d heard, Bucky Barnes hadn’t ever been interested in nature or gardening. But Bucky was a lot of different things now. Sam dragged his fingers a little higher up Bucky’s neck, feeling every microreaction and how Bucky wasn’t holding back. They were all good feelings.

 

“I don’t think there’re any tools round here but it’s yours if you want to make something of it.”

 

He felt and saw Bucky’s head jerk slightly as he twisted to look up at Sam. Sam looked back, steady and honest. It was true; if Bucky needed to do something, to feel the earth between his fingers, then Sam had no problem with that.

 

He heard Steve wrap up his phonecall and felt Bucky move again, carefully settling his head back against Sam’s thigh. Well now. Sam eased his hand around so that it touched Bucky’s shoulder and grazed the side of his face.

 

*

 

Natasha sent frequent text messages, updating Steve on the Hydra cells that she and a friend called Clint had been taking down since Bucky had started staying put. She sent a few messages to Sam too.

 

_Have escape routes planned._

 

Sam always had a go-bag packed in his wardrobe, force of habit. As for escape routes, he wasn’t sure he was any better off than Steve - he doubted he could leave Bucky behind now, even if something happened again. Having back-up plans for them all was a good thought though. He thought about trains, passports, money and maybe finding a way to get Stark to fix his wings without any favors attached. He thought about a couple of places that Riley had told him about.

 

Natasha texted him about other things too. Sam got the feeling that she spent a lot of time smirking at him. Steve wouldn’t reveal the contents of every message Natasha sent him; she was probably having a field day. Sam didn’t know all that much about her, only that she’d been SHIELD and that she was a spy by trade and by birth too apparently. She wasn’t a soldier but Sam knew that she’d seen and survived wars. He knew that she was way more than the faces he’d seen her wear for too many different people.

 

He watched Bucky hunch down in the backyard, his hands digging in the dirt, seeds spilling from his fingers. _Bucky’s gardening._

 

Natasha’s answer came that night, after she’d blown up a Hydra base in Sweden, _I enjoyed ballet._

 

*

 

Bucky really needed more clothes but when Steve and Sam bought him some, Bucky only ever wore bits and pieces. He was more inclined to wear Steve’s jeans or the hooded sweater that Sam offered him one day. Bucky liked wearing their clothes. Sam liked it too, as did Steve, Sam could see that.

 

When Sam slept beside Steve, Bucky didn’t change into pajamas or sweats. He sat on the bed with them more frequently, though never laid down. Sam touched Bucky’s metal arm, it felt warm.

 

Bucky kept his hair long and mostly loose. He seemed to appreciate how it hid his face. Maybe he liked how different it made him look to the Bucky Barnes everyone learned about in school or visited at exhibitions. Maybe that was why he didn’t shave all that often either.

 

Bucky always smelled of damp earth and warm metal.

 

*

 

There’d been radio silence from Natasha for almost a month; Clint had recently sounded the alarm because this was way beyond the marker that he and Natasha had set for themselves. Sharon was using whatever contacts she could to discreetly find out if Natasha needed help. Maria Hill was working for Stark now and refused to give him any details so Stark was redoubling his efforts to get information out of Steve or Sam.

 

Sam had often dreamed of flying but now he sometimes swooped down in his dreams to find something (Riley/Steve/Natasha/Bucky). He hadn’t dreamed like that in a while. He never dreamed of falling.

 

Steve was beyond worried. Bucky spent hours in the backyard. Sometimes he practiced with a set of knives, throwing them with complete accuracy. He spent a lot of time kneeling in the dirt.

 

Sam joined him once or twice, soaking in the sun that got to them. He dropped a hand to Bucky’s back, sliding it up to his neck. Bucky moved closer. This kind of moment, it did them both good. Sam slid a hand into Bucky’s hair, digging firmly into his scalp. Bucky was definitely touch-starved, combined with a painful paranoid cautiousness. Some days he didn’t go anywhere near Sam or even Steve, but he always ventured close again eventually.

 

Sam didn’t close his eyes, not right now anyway. Bucky pressed hard against him with a thump and a bitten-off sound. They were a small group, the people that knew about Bucky, and Natasha was strong and had always seemed prepared for anything. But they were all still worried. It didn’t feel right, complete radio silence. More than ever, Sam itched to fly.

 

Then, then...

 

A voicemail from Clint, he sounded exhausted but he had Natasha. Steve called him right back, his body tense, Sam sat beside him on the couch.

 

“She was over the border in Croatia,” Clint reported, something almost giddy in his voice. “They'd tanked her up with enough drugs to keep her under for days. She’d gotten out of the subterranean level when I got to her. We’re taking the long way home.”

 

He sounded immovable on that. Steve still tried, “We can scramble a jet to-.”

 

“We’re trying to get out unnoticed, Cap,” cut in Clint remorselessly. “There’s a SHIELD team docked nearby that can keep us off everyone’s radar. And Tasha really hates what doses like this do to her.”

 

That was ominous, something that Steve had picked on too by his frown. And since when did SHIELD still have active teams? So Natasha didn’t want people seeing her drugged up or maybe it was an echo of a bad experience. Either way, Clint was taking her safety seriously, he was being thorough instead of fast.

 

Clint took a breath like he was going to say more but then someone spoke in Russian near him and he replied in kind.

 

“You’re sure about that SHIELD team?” Steve asked, his voice rich with how not-okay he was with this whole thing.

 

“With Tasha’s life,” replied Clint immediately. “We’ll keep in contact. Hill has more.”

 

He hung up then without another word and Steve let out a breath. Bucky was a peripheral shadow, interested but not close. Steve looked and felt somewhat relaxed now – a missing member of his team had been found – but his thoughts were obvious.

 

“Can’t be everywhere,” Sam told him, settling himself closer, focusing on the part that they could make sense of without Natasha and Clint there to fill in the blanks. “And Clint’s right, the Star-Spangled Man is not inconspicuous.”

 

That raised a smile from Steve and he ran a hand along Sam’s leg. “Natasha helped me with that, when we were on the run.”

 

“Really? She took you to spy school?”

 

Steve’s smile was an edge of innocence and sly that Sam really liked. He was a complete goner here.

 

“She taught me that public displays of affection make people uncomfortable so they avert their eyes.”

 

Sam laughed. “And she got to lay one on Captain America.”

 

“It was a distraction.”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

They were both smiling now, moving simultaneously, arms pulling one another close, mouths fusing together, relief pouring out with a hunger that had done nothing but solidify since Steve and Bucky had moved in. Bucky was there, he was watching, and Natasha was all right.

 

She was going to be with a SHIELD team but she was all right. Sam didn’t know Clint but he knew that Natasha trusted him to watch her back and he knew Steve trusted Clint to do that too.

 

Sam ended up lying down in a really cramped position, next to Steve on the couch. Neither of them wanted to move. Steve kissed Sam and seemed to drift away into sleep. Sam lay there, watching him, his thoughts still cycling. Maybe he didn’t want to dream right now either.

 

A blanket dropped and spread over Steve and Sam. Bucky sat down at their tangled feet, wearing the jeans that they’d bought him and one of Steve’s shirts. Something moved hard in Sam’s chest and he reached over the blanket towards Bucky. Bucky’s metal digits met him halfway. Sam honestly had no clue what Bucky thought of Natasha but he knew that Bucky had been worried in some kind of way.

 

Bucky was motionless for a moment, then he shifted closer. Despite Sam’s reservations, the spent worries of the day were catching up and he could feel sleep starting to dominate. It’d be good to fly again.

 

Suddenly Sam felt rough lips against his fingers, forming a kiss. He let out a breath, because he hadn’t been expecting that. He slanted a glance through the darkness to where Bucky was still sat, he hadn’t retreated. So Sam curled knuckles around the sandpaper scrape of a chin and trailed them across a familiar throat. Bucky seemed to lean with him, getting nearer, almost laying down. The last thing Sam heard before sleep finally claimed him was,

 

“I’m sorry about your wings.”

 

Sam knew he wasn’t dreaming, he didn’t know if he said anything in response though. He did know that Steve’s hand moved at his hip and that in the morning, Bucky was still there, his hand intertwined with Sam’s, keeping watch.

 

_-the end_


End file.
